“Max!”
Neely’s voice brought him back and he rolled again so that Renquist was once more beneath him.
THERE WAS SO MUCH blood, and all of it belonged to Max. The moment he’d crashed through the door, she’d linked her mind with his, and she knew he was growing weak as he and the Ripper rolled across the carpet through splashes of moonlight, their faces as close as lovers.
On a muffled sob, she kept her death grip on the piece of glass and continued to work on the tape. Her fingers were slick with sweat and blood now, and more than once she’d felt the glass slipping out of her grasp.
Only a few more slices, she told herself. Pressing down hard, she felt the duct tape finally give way.
Run. Max hadn’t said the word aloud, but it echoed through her mind like a chant. She didn’t move. The gun. She nearly reached for it. But the light in the room was faint, and the two men were so close.
Then the Ripper was on top again, and he had the knife. Nearly frozen with fear, Neely watched it inch its way nearer and nearer to Max’s throat. Without another thought, she launched herself at the Ripper. Landing on his back, she clung with a vengeance and dug her nails into his neck. He howled in pain and tried to throw her off, but she held on tight. Finally, he reared back, sending them both to the ground. The impact stole her breath and had stars spinning in her head.
Then he was straddling her, one hand clamped to her throat, the other holding the knife. Using all of her strength, she fastened both hands on his wrist and pushed. Her arms shook with the effort. In her peripheral vision, she could see Max struggle weakly to get upright.
No. Stay back. She knew he was focused on getting to her, and he wouldn’t have a chance. She had to get the Ripper away. The face above her was caught in a beam of moonlight. She met his eyes, so wild, the color so like her own, and she willed the connection she’d made with him twice before.
Where could she take him? Not her house. And not to one of those dark London alleys. Precious seconds ticked away. Think.
The image that flashed into her mind was detailed and bright. The white chenille bedspread, honey-colored floors, the dark-oak bed and bright sunlight filtering through lace curtains on a wall of windows. Max’s sailboat.
Then she heard Max’s voice in her mind—5:00 p.m., August 1, 2128. Stall him until I can get there, Neely.
Praying that she could do it, Neely focused on the time and the place and kept her eyes locked on the killer’s as the pull of gravity faded and the whirl of velvety blackness enveloped her.
ON HIS HANDS AND KNEES, panting, Max fought off the unconsciousness and the terror that had nearly immobilized him when he’d realized what Neely intended to do. Even as panic rolled through him, the clearer part of his mind had sent her the only message that could help her. No one from the past had ever traveled to the future before. But if she made it, he had a chance to save her. He’d lost a lot of blood, and she was no match for Thomas Renquist in a physical struggle. Their time had been running out. What choice had he had?
Max couldn’t quite push that last image of the two of them out of his head—a mad killer straddling her, the knife moving toward her throat. Another few seconds and…Ruthlessly, Max cleared his mind. They were taking a huge risk, but if she could get Renquist to 2128, Max knew he could take him down.
No one had ever managed to travel into the future using psychic power. He was banking on the fact that Neely’s powers were exceptionally strong, and that mentally they’d spent some time together on his boat. She’d managed to pull off at least part of it. The room was empty now. Max could only pray Neely’s powers were strong enough to get her and Renquist to his sailboat.
Right now, he couldn’t think about that. He needed a cool head. Timing was everything if he wanted to save Neely’s life and capture the Ripper. Struggling weakly to his feet, he searched out a bathroom and used a towel to stanch the flow of blood from the long gash down his arm. Then he tore off his shirt and fashioned a tourniquet of sorts. By the time he finished, his arm was swathed tightly and sweat was rolling off of him. He wiped it out of his eyes, then fought off a wave of dizziness by sinking to the floor and lowering his head between his knees. He couldn’t fade yet. Not yet. Not until he could get some help.
Max focused all his energy on summoning up the details of Thomas Renquist’s apartment. No fading. Not yet. He needed to arrive seconds after he’d left Lance and Deirdre there. He couldn’t afford to miss them…3:00 p.m.
This time when the velvety blackness took him, he prayed that he wasn’t passing out. And when he saw Deirdre’s face bending over his, he prayed he wasn’t hallucinating. Dimly, he heard her talking in a no-nonsense voice, telling someone to call for medical help.
Max clamped his good hand on her wrist. “No hospital. We have to get to my sailboat. He’ll be there soon.” Max sent up one final prayer that he was right. Then he passed out.
NEELY BLINKED TWICE. Max’s bedroom looked exactly the way she’d pictured it. She’d made it to the right place, but had she gotten the time correct? When she heard movement behind her, she whirled to face the Ripper.
Heart pounding, she took a quick step back. He looked like a walking nightmare. His eyes were crazed and he still clasped the knife tightly in one hand. The same knife he’d used on Max. She hadn’t been able to risk a last look at Max, not when she’d had to concentrate on getting here and bringing the Ripper with her. Was Max even now lying on the floor of the suite bleeding to death?
“What the hell did you do?” As the Ripper took another step toward her, Neely pushed her fears about Max out of her mind. He’d told her to stall. He would be coming. And she still had the gun Sam had given her.
“Where are we?” His hair had pulled free from the ponytail and fell over his face. There was blood on his hands and on his clothes. Max’s blood. She saw little trace of the cool, controlled man who’d taken her on that limo ride to his Manhattan hotel suite.
Swallowing the bright ball of terror in her throat, she glanced around. “It looks like we’re on a sailboat.”
“What year are we in?”
For the first time she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. “I don’t know.”
He moved toward her again and raised the knife.
She took a quick step back into the side of the bed.
“Don’t lie. You did this. I don’t know how, but you dragged me here.”
And he didn’t like that one bit. She figured it really burned him that a woman could drag him anywhere. She decided to go with the truth. “If I did it right, we should be in 2128.”
His eyes went wide with disbelief. “No. That can’t be true…unless…” Pausing, he shook his head as if to clear it. “You’re from 2008. I checked you out. There’s been no documentation of anyone being able to use their psychic powers to travel to the future.” He scanned the room. “And this is an old boat. They don’t build them with wood anymore.”
Then he looked toward the windows. The Coronado Bay bridge gleamed in the distance and hovercraft could be seen winging back and forth across the water. Five beats went by. She had time to pull out the gun. If she did, she’d have to use it or he might just slip away into another time. And he could always come back after Max.
When he turned and met her eyes, the rage she saw had her breath catching in her throat.
“Who are you? And how did you bring me here?”
Stall. That’s what Max had told her to do. He was coming. Keeping her eyes steady on the Ripper’s, she went with her only other option. Drawing the locket out of her T-shirt, she lifted it over her head and held it out to him. “Maybe this will explain it.”
He glanced down at the locket, then back at her.
“Go ahead. Read the inscription.”
He took it with his injured hand and turned it over in his palm. To Elena, all my love, J.R. His eyes were furious when they met hers. “Where did you get it? You stole it from her, didn’t you?”
Neely shook her head. “No. She would never have let me. Elena took it with her to the hospital. I got this from my grandmother who got it from her grandfather, Angus Sheffield.”
“Sheffield?”
“That was her name, wasn’t it? Elena Sheffield? When I was in the alley, she told me that she was pregnant with Sir Justin Rathbone’s child. She was pregnant with your child.”
His hand fisted around the locket. “She lied.”
“No, we checked it out. You could, too. There are records that an Elena Sheffield gave birth to a son at Saint Mary’s Hospital in Mead. She died in childbirth, and because she was unmarried and alone in the world, the child was given her surname. Later, he must have been given the locket. It’s been passed down in my family ever since.”
“No.”
“She didn’t tell you about the baby, did she?”
With the locket still clenched in his hand, he began to pace.
“You’re making this up.”
“My great-great-grandfather Angus Sheffield and my grandmother Cornelia Rafferty each had the power to psychically travel through time. And now I have it, too. I come from your blood.”
“No.” Whirling on her, he used his forearm to push hair out of his eyes. “No.”